Sorrow and Rapture
by Fair Lady Miriel
Summary: SLASH. Paris is guilty about Hector's death, and offers himself to Achilles in order to feel suffering himself, but also to end the war. Achilles does not accept his body, but his friendship.Love would develop, then heartbreak RAPE.COMPLETE,only 10 chap
1. Default Chapter

Lord, I know I'm definitely risking this. I only saw Troy last night, but alas, on the way home, that stupid thing we call a plot bunny crawled into my head. What if Paris felt so much guilt for Hector's death he had to give himself up? What if there was more than just affection between the brothers: Maybe there was a deep love that no one ever knew about.  
  
Please be kind. This is slash, Paris/Achilles.  
  
Oh, and the whole Briseis (Paris' cousin) thing doesn't happen. She was never captured and she never met Achilles.

* * *

Paris couldn't help but cry out in pain as Menelaus slashed his thigh with his sharp blade. Blood ran down his face and leg, dying his tan skin red. His body felt bruised, but he had hardly fought at all!  
  
Strength left him. The young prince of Troy got up, and struggled to stay standing. He remembered the words he had whispered to Hector years ago. "When I die, I shall die at your feet."  
  
They had been spoken during the throes of passion. Yes, though it was forbidden, when the princes were younger, they took pleasure in eachother's bodies. There was nothing wicked about it in their minds; they loved eachother deeply, and when terrible emotions overwhelmed them, they found comfort in eachother.  
  
This sexual relationship ended in a few years. Both had taken an interest in woman, and Hector had fallen in love with Andromache. At first, Paris felt a little hurt. He understood, and now he knew what love could be. Helen held his love, and he would always treasure her.  
  
But those words that he had spoken had been true. Paris and Hector had a tight bond, and Paris would always look up to Hector.  
  
Realizing that this would destroy his pride, but determined to stay to his word, Paris crawled slowly to Hector's feet. When he reached there, he swore he heard a choked sob come from his brother.  
  
Paris gently grasped his ankle. "I will stay true to my word, beloved brother. I am prepared to die at your feet."

* * *

Tears streamed down Paris' handsome face as he lay the torch down on the pyre. He stole a last look at his handsome brother's face, and then stepped down from the ladder. Many others were weeping, and he didn't hide his feelings. His heart ached for Andromache, and his heart swelled when he saw Helen trying to comfort Hector's wife.  
  
He did love Helen. She was beautiful, gentle and kind. She had a strong yet lovely spirit that drew him to her. At first it had been for pleasure, as her body was desirable, but that first night together, Paris knew. He knew that much more would escalate.  
  
Their eyes met. She smiled sadly, and Paris thanked her with his pure brown eyes.  
  
Paris' beauty was often talked about, by female and male, but it had always made Paris uncomfortable. The compliments that he received had always made him blush. Hector was the one with glory! He had grown used to being in Hector's shadow all of his life, and now he had a reputation to uphold. But a deep sense of guilt and depression washed over him.  
  
Hadn't he started this war? Hadn't he stolen Helen? Sure, it was mostly about power now, and it was bound to happen, but he had brought it on. Maybe.....if he hadn't stolen Helen.....maybe his brother would still live.  
  
The thought nearly killed him. Hector had died an honorable death to Achilles, but it was still savage and brutal. Paris had never wanted to fight anyone; bloodshed was wrong in his opinion.  
  
Achilles, in his opinion, was the strongest warrior figure in the Greek army. He knew that the army looked up to him, and not the kings. He could end this war, maybe.  
  
A plan began to form in his mind. Maybe he could honor Achilles' greatness with a trade. Maybe, if Achilles approved of it, he could end the war.

* * *

A cloaked figure silently made its way down to the Greek camp. It moved with grace and agility, though it limped slightly.  
  
Paris moved quickly and swiftly, looking for Achilles' camp.  
  
After carefully peering in several tents full of sleeping men, Paris finally came upon the great warrior.  
  
Even though Paris felt loathing toward the man, he couldn't help but admit that he was beautiful. Long golden hair spilled down his head and his muscled form took on almost a golden sheen.  
  
"Do not advance on me, stranger. Reveal yourself," came Achilles' smooth, deep voice. He had immediately noticed the person's presence in his tent.  
  
Paris took a shaky breath, and lowered his hood down. He kneeled in front of the warrior and gently took hold of his large hands. He pressed his lips against the rough skin and then spoke.  
  
"Honorable Achilles."  
  
Achilles raised an elegantly formed eyebrow. "Who are you?" he asked, still remaining calm.  
  
Paris raised his head to Achilles. "I am Paris, last remaining prince of Troy. I saw you kill my brother today."  
  
Achilles flinched. Even though fighting was his talent, his strongest point; he still hated killing. The grief and sadness that was in the prince's beautiful eyes tore at his heart.  
  
His voice choked with emotion, Achilles whispered, "What is it you want?"  
  
Paris noticed the turmoil inside of Achilles and it awed him.  
  
"You fought my brother today, Achilles. I saw you kill the one I loved most in my life besides Helen, and yet I have respect for you."  
  
"Respect? As you said, I killed what you held dear and Troy's hope."  
  
"Even enemies respect eachother, Achilles."  
  
This made Achilles grow quiet. "You puzzle me, Prince of Troy."  
  
Paris actually smiled, a sad smile. "I have that affect on many. But, I must get to what I came here for."  
  
"Yes?" Achilles was amazed that he didn't just kill Paris and be done with it. But there had been enough death and despair for one day, he decided.  
  
"I loved my brother and looked up to him. You conquered him, but he fought well. I cannot help but feel guilty for his death. I started this war." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, and Paris blinked them away.  
  
"Greece was bound to try to fight Troy later on. What you did merely spurred them on."  
  
Paris looked up sharply. "You are wise, Achilles."  
  
Achilles nodded for him to continue.  
  
"I must pay my debt to Greece. I did wrong, terrible wrong. I have lost my pride and have shamed Greece. And I present myself to you."  
  
Achilles just stared at the gorgeous prince. Give himself away? How?  
  
"What? What do you speak of, Paris of Troy?"  
  
"I know that men can delight in the bodies of others. I feel that I do not deserve to live as a prince anymore, and that I should get a taste of cruelty and despair. I never suffered much in my life; it was always Hector."  
  
"I do not want you, Paris." Achilles said, touched by the offer, but angered that he would throw away his life.  
  
Paris went to his knees again. "My lord, please. I know that I am throwing away my life, and Hector would cringe, but I feel I must. I cannot go living knowing that Hector suffered and that I didn't." The prince was now crying silently, and tried not to have Achilles see.  
  
A surprisingly gentle hand cupped his chin and lifted Paris' gaze upward.  
  
"You will completely throw away your title. I would never hurt you, know this, if I accepted your offer."  
  
Paris looked surprised. "You mean, you would not forcefully have me?"  
  
Achilles looked disgusted. "I may be a fighter, but I am no rapist. It's disgusting."  
  
"My apologies." Paris felt a bit more optimistic.  
  
"The other men would not touch you. Your offer is made in good intentions, and I admire that. I would protect you."  
  
"I thank you." Paris was shocked at this unexpected kindness from Achilles. The clear blue eyes of the warrior showed no hostility, only calm.  
  
Many moments of awkward silence followed. Paris knew that Achilles was in deep thought.  
  
"I accept your offer, Paris of Troy. You are to be respected. I will never touch you in a harsh way, and I will see you as a companion."  
  
Paris nodded. He knew that his fortunes were good. Maybe the Gods were watching over him.  
  
Achilles almost tenderly caressed his cheek briefly. "Get some sleep, Paris." The blonde haired man nodded, and lay down to sleep after removing his loose robe.  
  
Paris obeyed and laid down a considerable distance away from his new......master, would he be called?  
  
"I will not harm you, Paris." Achilles sensed his new companion's discomfort. He refused to think of him as a slave. Sure, he had shared pleasure with a few people before, but he would never consider sexual slavery as a legal thing.  
  
Paris felt a bit better. After a few minutes, Achilles' smooth voice drifted over to the former prince.  
  
"Your brother was the best I fought, Paris. I'm sure the gods are with him."  
  
After hearing those words, Paris uttered a small thank you, and let himself sob quietly.

* * *

Please don't kill me! I think this is the first Troy slash fic so far! Review!  
  
Helen and Paris' conversation will be in a few chappies. Bye! 


	2. 2

Hey all, thanks so much for your reviews.  
  
Alyx Bradford- Thanks for your review. It really helped me. I merely meant the first slash on fanfiction.net for Troy. God knows that Troy slash has been done. I have trouble with dialogue. It's not a strong point. I read it out loud, and cringed. But I wanted everyone to know that I knew I didn't start Troy slash; I just started the first on ff.net. (I think)  
  
So anyway, bear with me for this story. Characters are probably OOC. I know that Patroclus was probably not Achilles' first cousin, actually I'm not sure of their true relation.....oh well bear with me.  
  
Paris sleepily opened his eyes to Achilles whispering. The blonde man was kneeling next to him. "Wake up, Paris. I need to tell you what is going to happen today." He spoke in that same calm voice.  
  
Paris nodded, and stretched a little. He then gracefully folded his lonng legs under himself and gazed at Achilles expectedly. Achilles was watching, amused.  
  
"You move like a cat. Not even the most nimble of warriors have that talent!" Achilles chuckled, a rather pleasant sound in Paris' opinion.  
  
"Thank you, my lord." Paris wasn't sure what to call Achilles, but 'my lord' seemed acceptable to him.  
  
The warrior looked uncomfortable. "Paris, while we are in the presence of other men, please address me as my lord, but when we are along please call me by my name."  
  
The former Trojan prince nodded again.  
  
Achilles stood up and walked toward a tray of fruits and cheese. "Here, eat, Paris. We have much to discuss."  
  
Paris walked toward the tray and gingerly picked up a slice of cheese. He nibbled on it, as he wasn't that hungry. He just wanted to hear what was in store for him.  
  
Achilles sat cross-legged on a pillow and began to speak. "I realize that it was your intention to be my slave, but slavery is wrong to me. Now, there is going to be a battle today. I must leave you, and you cannot leave this tent. I'm sorry for having to do this, but if you leave, the men will find you and-" he paused, "-they will not be gentle. Many people in the camp are cruel, and you, Paris, are desirable to them." Achilles did not falter at the small noise from Paris.  
  
"Odysseus, my best companion, was injured a few days ago when-when Patroclus was killed." Now Achilles did stutter and bowed his head.  
  
Paris felt sadness for this great warrior. He knew that his older bother had killed the young man thinking it was Achilles himself. Patroclus had been Achilles' cousin and best friend.  
  
Paris, though it was bold, laid a gentle hand on Achilles' shoulder. "I am sorry for his death."  
  
Achilles felt numb, but jerked his shoulder away and said a little too coldly, "I am sorry that your brother succeeded." Pain was still almost unbearably strong about his cousin, and when he had learnt of Patroclus' death he had nearly killed himself. The inner hatred of himself was strong, and the emotional effect that came from his best friend's death had almost undone his will to stay alive.  
  
Paris didn't meet Achilles' blue eyes. Hurt blossomed in his heart but he didn't let it show.  
  
After a few moments the silence was broken. "Forgive me." Achilles whispered. Paris spoke softly. "I do not blame you."  
  
Achilles nodded.  
  
"Well, anyway, Odysseus was injured, and he may stop by the tent later to talk. He cannot fight, much to his disappointment, but he is good natured and carries good conversation. He won't harm you."  
  
"Very well."  
  
Achilles looked at Paris for a bit, brown eyes meeting blue, and then broke that contact. He got up and began to put on his armor.  
  
Paris kept his eyes on the ground. Achilles' was kind, much kinder than he had imagined. It looked like he would not be sexually used, at least not for a while.  
  
Achilles bid him farewell, and as he walked out, Paris timidly said, "I---I hope that you return safely, Achilles."  
  
The blonde warrior stopped and turned, studying Paris with his aqua eyes. Surprise and a bit of happiness shone from them. "I thank you, Paris."  
  
And he left.  
  
Shockingly enough, Paris did not feel the terrible feeling of fear and regret that he had expected to engulf him. Instead, he felt optimistic enough, and was wondering if Odysseus would indeed visit.  
  
Paris decided to look around in the large tent. He found a few books, a couple of robes, some food and water, but not much else.  
  
Feeling tired for some reason, Paris just laid down to rest. He constantly sat up to watch the door, as the Greeks intimidated him.  
  
Hours later, of just thinking about his new life and Achilles, a deep yet musical voice sounded. "Young Paris? May I come in?"  
  
Paris sat up quickly and answered cautiously, "Is it Odysseus?"  
  
"Yes, it is. I hope you are decent, for I am coming in." And with that a tall man came through the strips of leather that covered the opening to the tent.  
  
He had sandy blonde hair that was cut short and stubble. Odysseus seemed like a pleasant man just from his appearance, which exuded peace and laughter.  
  
Paris stood and bowed slightly. "My lord Odysseus. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."  
  
Odysseus smiled, a rather boyish smile. "Just call me Odysseus, Paris. Though Achilles told me of your assumed position, I know he won't use it."  
  
Paris instantly liked Odysseus and grinned. "Very well, Odysseus."  
  
The conversation that followed was easy and lazy. Odysseus was very desirable company if you wanted to talk and Paris found himself laughing more than he had in days.  
  
"Achilles is a fair man, Paris. If no one else treats you with respect, he at least will." Odysseus paused. "And me, of course." he added as an afterthought.  
  
Paris smiled his gentle smile. "I thank you for that. Achilles always struck me as a savage killer, and his personality surprised me."  
  
"You don't know him that well yet." Odysseus warned. "He can be unpredictable at times."  
  
"I thought that he would be like that." Paris said thoughtfully. He then frowned a little. "He seems like a troubled man."  
  
Odysseus frowned as well. "He has a lot of self loathing for himself. Though killing is his gift, he hates himself for it. He sees it as wild and savage. Achilles may seem like just a murderer, but he is more. Much more."  
  
The two men sat in silence. "Thank you," Paris began, "thank you for treating me as an equal, and not a slave. I hope that our friendship will develop."  
  
The tall man grinned again in the carefree way. "I do too."  
  
  
  
Paris had been combing his silky brown curls with his slender fingers  
when Achilles'  
entered the tent. The warrior walked with a slight limp, and Paris  
saw that he was wounded.  
  
Achilles turned around slowly and Paris gasped softly. A slash was across his chest and shoulder. It was just above his heart and blood dripped from it freely.  
  
Paris could see that Achilles was trying to hide his pain, but the blue eyes gave it away.  
  
"Achilles. Let me help you." Paris whispered, and walked toward the warrior. Achilles didn't walk away, and instead spoke. His voice was tight. "I'm fine, Paris. Do not trouble yourself."  
  
This made the former prince angry. Why couldn't he just accept help? But, Hector had been the same way.  
  
"Please, Achilles. That is a nasty cut, let me help you. You might injure yourself more if you try to tend to it yourself."  
  
Achilles gazed at Paris. None of his men had ever questioned him. But, he liked this fiery spirit.  
  
He nodded slowly and lay down on his bed. Paris took the hint and filled a small bowl with water from the water skin. He went outside for a few moment to let it heat on the small fire he had built a respectable distance away from the camp. After the water was near boiling, Paris picked it up with his hands wrapped in rags so he wouldn't get burnt.  
  
Paris entered the tent and his heart ached with sympathy for Achilles. The warrior lay almost vulnerably on the layered blankets.  
  
Paris went over to him and sat down, laying the water down. He took a rag and soaked it in water, before rinsing it out, and carefully began cleaning Achilles' cut. The man hissed with pain, and Paris began to sing in his soft voice.  
  
"Remember..... I will still be here. As long as you hold me in your memory......  
  
Remember...... When your dreams have ended, Time can be transcended Just remember me.  
  
I am the one star that keeps burning so brightly It is the last night to fade into the rising sun...."  
  
He kept singing a beautiful melody, while tenderly bathing and treating Achilles' injuries. Achilles nearly fell asleep from listening to the heavenly voice. He felt his pain lessen just from hearing the song and he felt completely relaxed.  
  
When Paris stopped singing, he lowered his eyes and began to stitch the slash up.  
  
Achilles, even though he was not one to praise such things, spoke. "You have a beautiful voice, Paris. You could charm even the most cold hearted of souls."  
  
Paris blushed faintly. Singing was one of the few things he enjoyed. "Thank you."  
  
They didn't speak for awhile. Paris finished bandaging Achilles' chest and then waiting for him to say something. He felt awkward for some reason.  
  
"It is my turn to thank you, Paris. You saved me a lot of pain by doing that for me." He spoke softly, and almost shyly.  
  
Achilles was beginning to like Paris more than he expected, even though they barely knew eachother. He was young and passionate, even though he was clearly intimidated by him and the Greeks. Maybe this could be helped in time. Maybe they could be more than just companions. Maybe they could become more than friends......maybe lovers......  
  
Achilles bit his lip. He was a fool! Paris did love Helen, this he knew. How could he even be thinking about this young man as a sexual partner?  
  
But he gave himself to Achilles, right? Maybe he could use him for pleasure......wait, what was he thinking? Sexual slavery was wrong! How could he be contradicting one of his strongest beliefs?  
  
Paris was beautiful. He could quite possibly be one of the most beautiful males he had seen. Achilles knew the ways of men loving another, it wasn't a new thing. But finding pleasure in ones' body was just wrong. If there wasn't love behind it, it was little more than rape.  
  
Achilles fell asleep while he tried to figure it out. He would just wait to see what happened. He could do little else.  
  
Please review! Don't own song, that's all James Horner! This story is really taking over my mind..... 


	3. 3

Wow! Thanks for all of your kind reviews! The info that was given to me that in the actual book Patroclus was Achilles' lover will be very useful. Since I already mentioned that they were cousins, we will have a little bit of cousincest! Maybe 2nd cousins twice removed? ;-))  
  
I have this ENTIRE story planned out, it's just that if a few chapters just ramble on a bit, it's because I don't want things moving too fast. This chapter will be mostly gaining eachother's trust and conversations. I hope you enjoy.  
  
A few months passed, and Paris and Achilles got along well enough. They spoke a few times, but not a lot. Odysseus often visited when he wasn't caught up in things, and he and Paris established a good friendship.  
  
The thing was, no one knew about Paris. Or at least, the Grecian king Agamemnon didn't know. Achilles refused to take council with him, and Agamemnon wasn't interested in Achilles' daily life when he wasn't fighting.  
  
It was surprising that the two didn't hate eachother. Paris had expected to loathe the man who had killed his brother, but he felt himself warming up to him.  
  
The one peculiar thing was that Achilles' has terrible nightmares nearly every night. The second night of Paris' coming Achilles' had began to thrash about in his sleep, and actually moaned softly. He whispered fervently, "Patroclus......no, don't go.....you can't leave me here alone!"  
  
Paris had been bewildered at this and cautiously comforted the troubled warrior. Achilles had woken up at Paris' soft caress to his long blonde hair and actually began to sob.  
  
"I thought you were.....no, stupid of me." he had began, as tears streamed from his blue eyes.  
  
This behavior had shocked and frightened Paris. Who would have thought Achilles' would actually cry from a nightmare?  
  
Comforting the man had become almost a nightly thing after this. Paris would take one of his hands and whisper soothingly to him. In the past couple of days he actually held Achilles. He found that Achilles fit surprisingly well in his arms.  
  
One night, around 2 months after Paris had given himself to Achilles, the great warrior spoke.  
  
"I miss him, Paris."  
  
Paris looked up from the book he had been reading. It took a lot to make Achilles admit that he was hurting, but the pain in his eyes was easily read.  
  
"You speak of Patroclus, right? I do not know much of him, Achilles."  
  
Achilles nodded. "He was my best friend.....and he was my lover."  
  
Paris looked up quickly. Lovers? Patroclus and Achilles?  
  
Achilles met Paris' brown eyes. "Yes, he was related to me in a distant way. But we knew eachother forever, and we fell in love. He was the wildest, most stubborn, loveable creature I had ever known."  
  
Paris nodded. He was a good listener, and knew that Achilles wanted to let out his inner fear and hurt.  
  
Achilles gazed at him as he spoke, "He was also the most beautiful.....until I met you." He then lowered his gaze and Paris actually saw a rosy blush flush his high cheekbones. It was quite becoming of him.  
  
Though it was probably just a kind compliment from a friend, Achilles' comment scared Paris. He didn't want Achilles to actually use him for pleasure, and if he thought he was beautiful, that was an indication that Achilles' was attracted to him. But, if Achilles ordered him to be his for as many nights as he needed, Paris couldn't refuse. He had given himself away.  
  
"Thank you." it was barely more than a whisper, but Achilles heard it.  
  
Achilles sounded disgusted with himself and at the same time his voice was shaky. "Maybe if I was there.....maybe if I had been there to protect him.....he would still be here today." He buried his face in his long, strong hands.  
  
Paris didn't know what to say to that. He realized that Achilles had tremendous guilt about Patroclus' death.  
  
"Maybe if I wasn't a coward, and if I didn't steal Helen away, Hector would still live," Paris said softly, and now his eyes filled with tears.  
  
Achilles stood up slowly, and shuffled over to Paris. He sat down beside his friend and very carefully, folded him in a careful embrace.  
  
Paris couldn't help himself and leaned into the warm hug, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"There was more to you than just being brothers, wasn't there?" Achilles asked, forgetting his own sorrow for a time.  
  
Paris nodded. "Yes," he began, his voice thick with tears, "we were actually lovers for a time."  
  
Achilles did not flinch away in disgust as Paris had expected. Instead, he tightened his embrace slightly. "I understand."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yes. Your love was pure. I can tell. I know what it is like to love a family member. There is no shame in it in my eyes." Paris looked up into those beautiful blue eyes at these words and smiled. His face was streaked with tears, as was Achilles', but Achilles thought he was still beautiful. The silky curls rested on his head down to his shoulders, and the gorgeous brown eyes were sparkling.  
  
Paris also studied the man who held him so protectively. Achilles was a handsome man, with golden skin and long gold hair. His blus e eyes were windows to his soul and long eyelashes framed him.  
  
Then it happened.  
  
Achilles leaned down and gently captured Paris' lips with his own. It was a sweet kiss that spoke of affection and love, and asked for nothing in return.  
  
Paris was scared out of his wits at first, but then realized that there was nothing to fear. The kiss was tender, and Achilles' soft, ruby red lips felt wonderful on his own.  
  
Achilles pulled away an inch, and whispered. "I'm sorry."  
  
Paris looked deeply into those eyes. "Do not be," he whispered, and locked his own lips onto Achilles'.  
  
They kissed softly and lovingly for long minutes, and Achilles' hands found their way into Paris' soft locks. Paris threw his long arms around Achilles' neck and he moved closer to the man.  
  
After they broke away for a second time, they both smiled. "You kiss well." Achilles said, almost teasingly, and Paris laughed softly.  
  
"What does this mean? For us? I came here at first to be your slave, and now I have feelings for you."  
  
Achilles nodded. "I do not know," he began, "but I know that kissing you felt so right, and it felt as though flames were engulfing my body."  
  
Paris nodded. Shock was in his mind, lingering with love and desire for Achilles' skilled and tender touch.  
  
"I loved Helen, Achilles. I still do, but it is not this kind of love. I felt love for her to protect her, to cherish her. But now.....I know that she is safe for now. It is possible to love more than one. And my feelings are you are growing stronger."  
  
"I never thought my feelings would turn into love either, Paris. It is most unexpected, and forbidden to love the enemy. But you are not my enemy. You are my friend, and it is quite possible, we will fall in love." Achilles was surprised as well, but he ached for Paris to be in his arms again.  
  
He hadn't acted just upon lust. He definitely had feelings for the beautiful young man.  
  
What would happen to them?  
  
It was late, so instead of worrying that night, the two snuggled in eachother's arms and held eachother.  
  
Oh dear. Please review! Hope this isn't going too fast! 


	4. 4

Hey I am back!  
  
Thank you so much for the reviews. Even though I had like 60 before my account was taken down, these are wonderful!  
  
Now, things happen fast ok?

* * *

Months passed, and Paris' and Achilles' relationship stayed the same. Stolen kisses, nights of whispered endearments. Neither said that they were in love, but feelings were stronger.  
  
Paris lived a dangerous life in the Greek camp. Men were constantly walking about, and if Paris stepped out to get a breath of fresh air or water, some stole glances at him.  
  
It amazed both Paris and Achilles that Agamemnon hadn't come to their tent and had just stolen Paris away. In fact, they were now certain that the king didn't know. After all, it had been eleven months!  
  
One day, while Paris stepped out to watch the sunrise, a surly looking man approached him. The former Trojan prince ignored him, as Achilles had instructed him.  
  
"So, you are Achilles' whore, correct?" the large man hissed, clearly displaying cruel intentions. He walked up behind Paris' smaller form.  
  
Anger and hatred burned in Paris' chocolate brown eyes. "Leave me be, warrior. I have no desire to speak with you." This man who spoke so hurtfully about he and Achilles broke his heart inside, but he did not let it show.  
  
A strong hand suddenly clamped on Paris' right forearm, pressing hard. "How dare you dismiss me as a subject, fool. You are no longer royalty. You are naught but Achilles' slave to pleasure him and warm his bed. No one would feel anything for you but.....desire." The man suddenly wrapped his arms around Paris and tried to spin him around.  
  
Paris acted quickly. With amazing speed and agility, he wrenched the man's arms from his body and whirled around, pinning the man's arms around his thick neck.  
  
The young man's eyes flamed with fire, but he portrayed calm.  
  
The Greek warrior looked rather surprised. "So you are feisty, are you?" he questioned, his own black eyes poisonous.  
  
The sun burned a bright red, casting the land in a pink light.  
  
A voice suddenly broke the thick silence. "Paris? Solider? What just is going on here?" Odysseus' smooth voice interrupted, clearly showing his dislike at the situation.  
  
Odysseus had seen the man confronting Paris, and he knew that something was amiss.  
  
The huge man took his hands from Paris'. "We were only conversing." he lied.  
  
Odysseus didn't believe it for a second, but he saw Paris' discomfort at the situation.  
  
"I wish to speak with Paris alone. Please leave us." Odysseus spoke firmly, and nodded his head toward Paris. He began to walk toward the sea and Paris followed.  
  
As Paris walked, he heard the man whisper dangerously, "We will meet again, my pretty one. Maybe I shall bring some friends as well."  
  
Paris shivered despite his attempts to mask his emotions. The man's intentions clearly showed.  
  
Once they were out of earshot, Odysseus released a sigh.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Odysseus asked softly, clearly seeing the distress in Paris' eyes.  
  
Paris shook his head. "No. I am just shaken."  
  
Odysseus nodded. "I do not know the name of that man, but I've seen him before. His eyes portray a threatening demeanor."  
  
The older man looked Paris in the eye. "I won't lie to you. You are very beautiful and the men have learned of your presence. They dislike Agamemnon as much as we do, and most likely won't tell him. But, be careful, Paris. Don't go into the camp without Achilles. It has been nearly a year and it is simply amazing that you haven't been discovered by our so called king."  
  
Paris nodded, fear returning to his eyes. "Please do not tell Achilles of this."  
  
Odysseus looked puzzled. "Why?"  
  
"His anger will consume him, and he will do things he will regret. I do not want anyone to die because of me."  
  
Odysseus got a look of dawning comprehension. "There is more to you than companions, isn't there? You care for eachother."  
  
Paris looked at the ground, not sure of Odysseus' reaction. "Yes. I care deeply for him." It was true; he was positive his feelings had turned to love over the past eleven months.  
  
Odysseus nodded. "Very well. I will not speak to Achilles of it. Go to him, Paris."  
  
Paris nodded and headed back for the tent.

* * *

"I was wondering where you went." Achilles remarked, while he tried to twist sections of his hair to get it out of his face.  
  
"Just for some fresh air," Paris said truthfully, and walked toward his friend. "Here. Let me help you."  
  
He gently took Achilles' hands away from the golden hair and threaded his slender fingers through it. He reached into his pocket and took out the comb Achilles had given him. He tenderly brushed the blonde tendrils and his nimble fingers agilely twisted locks and fastened them with leather bands.  
  
Achilles sighed in content. Paris' soothing hands calmed him and he relaxed.  
  
"There will be a battle soon, Paris. Each side is growing restless," Achilles acknowledged wisely.  
  
Paris nodded, and he brought his hands down to Achilles' elegant neck and massaged the tense skin. This gesture was strangely sensual.  
  
Achilles laid his head against one of Paris' hands, and Paris stroked the soft skin of Achilles' cheekbone. Achilles' sweetly pressed a kiss to the slender hand, and looked up adoringly at Paris. "What would I do without you, my dear friend?" he asked, desperately wanting to address him as his love.  
  
Paris smiled his lovely smile, and replied, "Hopefully we will never find out." He was still upset about the confrontation earlier, but tried not to let it show.  
  
Achilles, however, was not fooled. "Something troubles you. Will you not tell me?"  
  
Paris lowered his eyes. "It is nothing, Achilles."  
  
The golden haired man let it go, but it still preyed upon his mind.

* * *

Achilles came back from every battle relatively unharmed, which was unheard of. He had not sustained a serious injury since the slash that Paris had healed.  
  
Paris missed Achilles when he fought. It had been over a year since they had met, and Paris was in love with the warrior. He desperately wanted Achilles to love him back, but he would not get his hopes up.  
  
So many times Paris just wanted to pull Achilles into his arms and kiss him passionately. He wanted to explore the beautiful man's body and wanted to pleasure him. He wanted to hear him moan and scream his name.  
  
Paris whipped himself out of his thoughts. What was he thinking?! He didn't want anyone to touch him in an intimate way.....or did he?  
  
He had come to be Achilles' pleasure slave and now he wished the man hadn't refused him. No, he didn't want to be violated forcefully; he wanted to have Achilles make love to him.....  
  
Paris openly slapped himself. This was insane, he was going mad.....  
  
Achilles burst through the door, obviously not hurt after the battle. He walked over to Paris swiftly, and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Paris automatically opened his mouth and Achilles' tongue joined with his, performing an ancient duel. Achilles wrapped his strong arms around Paris' curvy waist and groaned softly. Paris threaded his hands though Achilles' hair. He loved the eager, blazing approach Achilles gave and he undid the man's breastplate, letting it fall to the ground with a clang.  
  
The younger man unlaced Achilles' undershirt and traced the man's chest with his hands, relishing the feeling of the warm, silky skin.  
  
They never unlocked their mouths from eachother. They continued their worship of the other, until they could no longer breathe. They fell to the bed, and fulfilled their desires with touches and teases.  
  
"Gods, I cannot take this much longer." Paris moaned softly. The need to be intimate was overwhelming.  
  
"Soon, Paris, soon." Achilles promised. Sweat covered their bodies after their erotic completion.  
  
Paris nodded shakily, and tenderly kissed Achilles' slightly bruised lips.  
  
Wrapping their arms around eachother, they held eachother until the morn.

* * *

No, they didn't have sex. Just....mutual masturbation? REVIEW! 


	5. 5

Thanks reviewers! I really am glad you like my story!  
  
The big sex scene.......but I'll try to keep it down so I won't get booted off....

* * *

Days passed after the sensual encounter between the men. It was clear they wanted to be intimate, but both were waiting to be sure that their feelings were love.  
  
Achilles knew that he was in love with the former prince. He wanted to cherish him and hold him. He wanted to call him his beloved instead of his friend. He wanted to kiss him and make sweet love to him during the lonely nights.  
  
He was a Trojan, though! It would be setting himself and Paris up for death.  
  
But why hadn't Paris been killed already?  
  
Sheer luck. Luck that the men weren't loyal to Agamemnon, and that Paris hardly went outside during the day.  
  
But what if they did find out? Achilles shuddered and felt sick at the thought, but it was never completely out of his thoughts. If it had to happen, it would. Achilles would rather have Paris know he loved him if he died.  
  
Currently Paris was out getting water. It was just past dusk and the land was covered in a dark blue fog.  
  
Achilles wanted this. He wanted to have someone love him. He missed the sexual intimacy as well as the trust and support from a lover.  
  
Within moments Paris entered, carrying a large basin of water. His curls were slightly tousled from the breeze, and a light flush stained his fine cheekbones. The simple, flowing fabric of the robe he wore set off his slim, curvy figure.  
  
It was enough to make Achilles lose his mind, really. The beauty of the man in front of him made him feel hot and flustered, but he tried to hide it.  
  
Paris laid the basin down, and turned to the man, who was standing, looking awkward.  
  
Paris walked slowly toward the warrior. He studied the heavy breathing, and the blush that covered his cheeks.  
  
They were eye to eye. Brown set on blue. Achilles desperately wanted to grab Paris into his arms, but he felt frightened to lay a hand on him. It was peculiar, especially since the events of the other night, but this was..... different.  
  
"You can touch me, Achilles," Paris whispered softly.  
  
Achilles nodded slowly, and he brought his hands on Paris' elegant shoulders. He began to undo the clasps that held the robe together. The length of silky fabric fell to the ground.  
  
Achilles nearly moaned at the beautiful, shapely body in front of him, and how blessed he was to be allowed to view it. He wrapped his arms around Paris and pulled him close. The former prince's bronze skin felt like silk.  
  
With one arm still around his love, Achilles began to remove his own robe. When he was naked also, he pulled Paris in for a fiery kiss. Once again their tongues engaged in an ancient dance.  
  
Achilles caressed the satiny skin of Paris' back and moaned, "I want you."  
  
Paris whimpered and nodded. "I love you, Achilles. I give myself to you."  
  
Achilles felt blessed to have such a beautiful thing as Paris' love, and returned the affection. "I love you as well. Trust yourself to me," he whispered sensually, and licked and teased Paris' ear. The young Trojan shivered and pressed himself to Achilles' warm body.  
  
Achilles kissed Paris' neck and nipped it playfully. He nuzzled the shoulders and licked a line along the delicate collarbone. He delighted at Paris' soft moans, and he continued teasing the former prince's body.  
  
Paris traced circles on Achilles' chest and teasingly squeezed a sensitive nipple. The warrior groaned quietly, and he picked Paris up in a fluid movement.  
  
He carried the small man over to their bed and lay him down. He carefully lowered himself onto Paris' body. Paris rubbed his arousal over Achilles' and they both panted from the dual pleasure.  
  
What followed was passionate, gentle lovemaking. Paris experienced the wonderful sensations that he hadn't known in years. He allowed himself to be dominated by Achilles, and loved the feeling.  
  
Achilles had experienced sex from males, but it had never been this intense. He was filled with an overflowing sense of love for the creature moving below him.  
  
Moans and sighs echoed in the tent that night, and louder yelps after they reached their climax together. Ecstasy as they had never known washed over their bodies and minds, and they lay entwined for some time.  
  
They both murmured their love for eachother over and over, as if they were afraid they would vanish from their arms. A light sheen of sweat covered their bodies.  
  
"Don't ever leave me, Paris. Please don't ever leave me." Achilles whispered into Paris' smooth neck.  
  
"Never, my sweet Achilles. I shall be with you until the day we die." Paris promised, and kissed Achilles' forehead. The tenderness Achilles had showed during their love making had surprised him, and now he was more than willing to always be on the receiving end. A peculiar feeling washed through him.  
  
Protectiveness. He felt protective of this beautiful, powerful warrior that was thought to be immortal. He had a vulnerable side that he had not let anyone see except for Patroclus and Paris. The need to protect him was as natural as wanting to protect Helen.  
  
Helen.....Paris felt upset and guilty whenever he thought about her. Was she safe? Was she worried for him?  
  
He did love her. She had been intoxicating, clever and kind. She had accepted Paris' love after being in a loveless marriage with Menelaus.  
  
But Paris' love for Helen was so different from his love for Achilles! Yes, it was the same feeling of protection and to cherish. Somehow, it was just different.  
  
As he lay in Achilles' strong arms, Paris chose not to think of Helen. He nuzzled his lover's shoulder warmly.  
  
They both felt a sense of love that they hadn't experienced for so long.  
  
It would have been perfect......

* * *

Agamemnon's features contorted in anger and disgust when the cries of ecstasy faded and silence fell.  
  
He had been outside of the tent for a few minutes, as he had been tipped off by a surly looking warrior earlier. Didn't really even know his name.....  
  
Paris.....the Trojan whore had been in this camp for a year, without his knowing! Why hadn't his men told him?  
  
This evidence told him very important information; that many of his men weren't loyal to him and that Achilles had committed treason. The penalty for this height of treachery was death.  
  
Agamemnon would enjoy breaking the high and mighty warrior Achilles by slowly torturing Paris for his deeds.....  
  
Yes......Agamemnon smiled evilly, as he contemplated the former prince's punishment.....

* * *

Cliffy! I shan't write more if you don't review!! 


	6. 6

"I want him dead." Agamemnon growled. It had been hours since he had heard the tell tale sounds from Achilles' tent and fury still engulfed him.  
  
"But my lord, would it not be more.....satisfying, if we let the prince suffer? Also, his body is very pleasing, if you get my drift....." the surly warrior spoke silkily. He knew that his king wanted to kill Paris, and he was more than willing to agree, but not after they had put Paris to use.  
  
The king nodded. "Yes.....it would be an excellent opportunity to break Achilles."  
  
"How would we get him out of the camp?" the warrior, who went by Christopher, asked.  
  
"I will find a way.....maybe confine him in my tent and have guards all around him? We do not have to tell him of the rat's torment." Agamemnon suggested, his cruel mind reeling.  
  
"Excellent. When do you need this done?"  
  
"Tonight. Just after dusk. Capture him and give him hell." the king ordered. "I will order Achilles here before you begin the attack."  
  
"When should we stop the abuse, my lord?" Christopher questioned, truly enjoying where this conversation was going.  
  
Agamemnon grinned. "Don't. Violate him until he dies. Do not be afraid to be rough."  
  
Christopher bowed. "As you wish, my king." With that he left the tent.

* * *

"And he requests my presence why?" Achilles questioned, venom in his voice. Paris stood behind his new found lover, listening closely.  
  
The guard smiled. "He orders your presence. He told me not to speak of his purpose."  
  
Achilles turned to Paris. "I shall be back soon, Paris." Paris nodded, and watched Achilles walk out of the tent.  
  
Moments later, 2 huge men burst into the tent and grabbed the former prince. Paris struggled, but the weight of the men overpowered him.  
  
"Unhand me!" Paris commanded, but his voice shook.  
  
The one with black hair snarled, and Paris recognized him as the man who had tormented him before. "I think not, Paris. You have been found out by the king, and you will pay."  
  
Paris' eyes widened in fear and sweat began to form on his brow.  
  
The men dragged him out of the tent and stuffed a gag into his mouth. They walked for sometime until they came to a large campsite with many men gathered around. Angry but excited shouts of obscene names were directed at Paris and he stiffened.  
  
"Paris, the king had ordered us to kill you for your sins." Christopher shouted, and Paris tensed, fear coursing through his veins.  
  
"Only, you are much to pretty a gem to pass us by. We will have you as many times as it takes for you to find death." Christopher whispered into Paris' ear, delighting in the shudder that passed through the younger man.  
  
Abruptly, he pushed Paris to the ground and began ripping his robe off of him. Paris struggled, but again, the weight was too heavy. He shouted for help, anything, but was silenced by a heavy blow to his head.  
  
When Christopher thrust himself into Paris, a soft, broken wail left his lips. The excruciating pain made him feel faint. He cried out softly for the man to stop, but he was lost in his own pleasure at Paris' body.  
  
After the warrior reached his peak inside of Paris, he pulled out roughly. Paris thanked the Gods that the assault had stopped for some time. But, his hopes were crushed as he saw another man approach him and began to disrobe.  
  
"Nooooo.....don't....." Paris sobbed. He wasn't sure he could survive another onslaught. Nothing he did stopped the man before him, though, as he started another invasion.

* * *

"Let me out this instant!" Achilles yelled, angered to know he was trapped in the king's tent. Agamemnon had never been in the tent, and to Achilles' dismay, four large, burly warriors blocked the entrance.  
  
His instincts told him that something had happened to Paris, and if these guards didn't let him out he would kill them.  
  
The first agonized scream rang through the air, and following that was loud pleading. Achilles recognized Paris' voice. A blinding, cold fear coursed through his veins.  
  
He walked up to the guards and hissed, "If you want to live, let me go from this tent." Achilles did not expect the hard blow that came from the warrior's large fist. It knocked the wind out of him and he stumbled.  
  
Achilles felt helpless as he heard Paris' anguished moans fill the air. He did not have his weapons with him; he was helpless.  
  
His fear blinding him, he took off at a run towards the guards. One put up their shield and Achilles' hit it right on. Letting out a quiet groan of pain, Achilles backed down.  
  
It seemed like hours before Achilles made up his mind. He gave a hard punch to the one guard and grabbed his sword. He swiftly stabbed and killed each one of the, and left the tent, searching for Paris.

* * *

(A/N: This is slightly before Achilles escapes)  
  
"No.....please, stop, no!" The pain was so unbearable that Paris felt no shame in begging. He felt his insides being torn and tears ran down his face. He did not stifle his desperate screams anymore. The enormous man above him groaned with pleasure and pounded into him hard, making blood flow freely out of Paris' abused passage. Paris screamed Achilles' name between agonized wails.  
  
After the second man reached his climax inside of him, Paris passed out for a brief period of time. The aches in and on his body were too much.  
  
The darkness was comforting. The hurt seemed to have ceased for a time.  
  
More searing pain jerked Paris back to consciousness. He wearily opened his brown eyes and saw a different man moving above him. The horrible ache that twisted his body had worsened tenfold, and he heard shouts and yells of delight from the Greek men around him. Paris let out a loud scream when the man who was taking him thrust brutally.  
  
What seemed like hours passed. Paris was barely conscious. Rough, hard kisses made his lips bleed and ruthless, barbaric touches on his body made bruises appear. Paris felt himself slipping into permanent darkness.  
  
Achilles....where was he.....  
  
'I love you, Achilles.....' Paris thought to himself, but stopped his thoughts were interrupted by his own loud moan of distress.  
  
Everything was fogging up. He no longer heard the taunts and laughter of the Greeks. All he knew was the misery.  
  
Then.....he heard a furious shout fill the air. He thought he heard someone shout his lover's name, but couldn't be sure. He just felt the third man pull out of him.  
  
Paris was sure he heard his own name being called, but couldn't be sure. Black fog engulfed him, and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

Achilles wiped the blood off of the guard's sword on one of the dead corpse's clothing. Fury and devastation ran through his shaking body at seeing Paris being violated and hurt. He prayed that he was not too late.  
  
He ran to his lover, and choked back a sob.  
  
Blood covered Paris' long legs and body. Dark bruises were all over his slender form, marring the perfect golden skin. Scratches decorated his shoulders and back.  
  
Paris' face was deathly pale and his lips were cracked and bleeding. His silky curls were matted and mussed.  
  
The young man had obviously endured many violations and rape.  
  
Achilles knelt down and carefully, very tenderly, gathered Paris into his arms.  
  
"Paris.....Paris, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Achilles sobbed, and gently cradled his lover's broken body in his arms. "Please forgive me. Please do not die.....do not leave me."  
  
He looked to the heavens. "Don't take Paris away from me, please. I'm so sorry that I killed all of those men, so sorry that I had to be a murderer. You took Patroclus away from me.....please do not take Paris from me," Achilles pleaded with the Gods, tears streaming down his handsome face.  
  
Achilles shakily pressed a kiss to Paris' brow. "I love you so much, my Paris. I have so much love for you.....do not leave me alone, beloved. Please....."

* * *

To be continued. Will not post next chapter if I don't get any reviews! HINT 


	7. 7

Oh! Thank you so much, reviewers!!! Please keep reviewing! I hope you will not kill me for this chapter....

* * *

Achilles lay on the ground for a few moments, silently pleading for the Gods to return Paris to him. He had already loved and lost months before, and if Paris died, Achilles was sure that he too would die.  
  
Achilles felt Paris' neck for a pulse, and was relieved to find a weak one present. Making up his mind, Achilles stood up and still held Paris carefully to his chest. He cautiously walked through the camp and woke up each one of his men.  
  
He told each of them to guard the outside of his tent while he doctored Paris and tried to keep him alive. His warriors gazed at him in surprise, and then at Paris' battered form with sadness in their eyes.  
  
Achilles also went to Odysseus' tent. His good friend would surely help them. Sure enough, the man was eager to help, and they went back to Achilles' tent.

* * *

Back in the tent, and sure that his guards surrounded it, Achilles gently laid Paris down on their bed. He stared at his lover's broken body, and stifled his tears. He looked to Odysseus, had bowed his head.  
  
"Come, Odysseus. We must try to save him," Achilles muttered, and then went to get fresh water. Within minutes, he was back, and then started to heat the water over the small fire he had built inside the tent to keep Paris warm. The former prince had began to shiver, and occasionally moaned softly.  
  
The two warriors began to tenderly clean Paris' cuts and injuries. Achilles then carefully applied a soothing healing slave to Paris' abused opening. The young man had flinched violently and had whimpered.  
  
"Shh, I'm sorry, my love. Forgive me," Achilles whispered, and softly caressed Paris' bruised cheek. Odysseus watched him with grief filled eyes.  
  
After hours of tending to Paris, the two warriors saw nothing else that could be done. Achilles lay beside Paris to keep him warm, but did not get too close to him. If Paris woke up and felt someone next to him, he could panic.  
  
"Do you think he will live?" came Achilles' voice, which was small and slightly pleading.  
  
Odysseus faltered at hearing Achilles' voice like he was a small child.  
  
"I do not know. Paris has been badly hurt, and I fear the emotional damage more than anything else. But, Paris is very strong, and will not die easily. Have faith, Achilles."  
  
Achilles knew Odysseus' words were wise, but they did not sooth his terrified soul. Even if Paris did wake up, what if he didn't trust him? What if Paris blamed him for the assault?  
  
He had vowed to protect the Trojan. He had meant it; but perhaps, if they hadn't made love, if Achilles hadn't given into his desires, Paris wouldn't have been hurt.  
  
Another icy cold fear crept its way through Achilles' body. Rejection. He could be rejected and feared by his true love.  
  
He did love Paris; strongly and truly. The man was beautiful and kind, and possessed every desirable attribute that a lover wanted.  
  
Hours passed and left Achilles alone to his dark thoughts. He barely noticed the other warrior in the tent.  
  
A gray dawn broke over the beach; a light drizzle fell. Odysseus left briefly to check on Achilles' men, and Achilles was left with Paris.  
  
Achilles had prayed all night; he still prayed. Paris hadn't shown any sign of waking. He whimpered occasionally from a nightmare; but otherwise, he did not move at all.  
  
The blonde warrior was in a thick fog. Events of last night played through his head; being taken to the tent, hearing Paris' agonized moans and screams, killing the guards, seeing Paris being violated before his very eyes, seeing the bleeding Trojan broken on the ground....  
  
Unwanted tears fell from Achilles' blue eyes, and soon the silent tears turned into full blown sobs; sobs of misery and guilt. The warrior no longer cared for his pride as he cried his sorrow.  
  
"Please, please, I beg of you, let Paris come back to me. I will not survive without him. He does not deserve to die; if anyone does, it's me. I let him down...."  
  
Odysseus then came into the tent, and his heart fell at seeing his good friend crying. He went to him cautiously and sat down, and tentatively wrapped his arms around the shaking form. To his surprise, Achilles buried his face into his chest and grabbed his robe, wringing it between his hands.  
  
Odysseus let a few of his own tears fall. Paris and Achilles had been good friends to him, and it killed him to see them both hurt and suffering.  
  
The two warriors stayed like that for some time. Achilles' sobs quieted, and he then whispered a 'thank you' to Odysseus.  
  
"Anytime, my friend," Odysseus replied truthfully.  
  
Achilles sat quietly. He then spoke. "I am so afraid for him, Odysseus."  
  
Odysseus nodded. "Yes, I am too."

* * *

Long minutes passed, and then the unthinkable happened.  
  
Paris shifted slightly and moaned softly. Achilles watched him carefully, and then walked over to him. He sat down a few feet away from him.  
  
The Trojan let out a strangled whimper, but then turned to his side. Dull brown eyes opened wearily, and brown was set on blue once more.  
  
The two stared at eachother for a long while. Paris seemed tense and frightened, and Achilles nervous. Odysseus hung back.  
  
"A...Achilles?" Paris asked weakly, and his voice was hoarse.  
  
"Yes, it is me, Paris. You came back to us," Achilles whispered, and hesitantly took Paris' hand. To his utter grief and confusion, Paris moved away slightly and pulled back his hand.  
  
Paris looked up at Achilles with tears in his eyes. "You told me you would protect me." he whispered, his voice filled with hurt and tears. "You promised they would not hurt me."  
  
The words hit Achilles like a hard blow. His world came crashing down onto him in reckless abandon.  
  
He choked back a distressed yelp. "No, Paris, if I could have saved you I would have. I tried; I tried so hard to keep you safe...I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I love you more than life itself," Achilles pleaded, and more tears fell from his already red eyes. One of his biggest fears was becoming a reality.  
  
Paris began to cry as well. He looked regretful.  
  
"I'm sorry, Achilles. I...I just cannot...." Paris was cut off by himself as his features contorted with pain. "Hurts...." he gasped out softly, and then closed his eyes once more. The battered body went limp once more.  
  
Achilles sucked in his breath sharply, and then let out a whimper of inner pain. He laid his hand on Paris' brow and felt a fever raging.  
  
Odysseus bowed his head. He could only imagine how Achilles felt; to have someone you love not trust you.  
  
He put what he hoped was a comforting hand of Achilles' shoulder, and the man turned to look at him. What Odysseus saw broke his heart.  
  
The expressive aqua eyes were full of torment and suffering. The orbs no longer sparkled; instead, they were dull and cloudy. Tears were gathered in the eyes, but it did not get rid of the shadowed, blurred expression.  
  
"It wasn't your fault, Achilles," Odysseus whispered.  
  
Achilles shook his head. "No," he began, his voice quiet, "It was my entire fault. I deserve this pain."  
  
Odysseus shook his head. "No, Achilles. No one deserves this pain. It is Agamemnon's fault."  
  
Achilles stood up abruptly. "Don't you understand, Odysseus?! I promised Paris I would protect him, and I broke that promise! He is the one reason I am alive right now, Odysseus. His love for me kept me alive. He stopped me from hurting myself more," Achilles paused and rolled up the sleeves to his robe to reveal scar covered wrists and forearms, obviously self inflicted, "the least I could have done was keep him safe from pain. I love him, Odysseus. I love him more than life. I love him. I need him." At first Achilles had been shouting, but now his voice dropped to a whisper.  
  
Odysseus sat in silence. He had never known that Achilles had cut himself. Obviously, there was more than a lover in Paris. He was more like Achilles' savior.  
  
Achilles' guilt would slowly kill him, and the urge to hurt himself would become stronger. Odysseus desperately hoped that Paris would trust Achilles again.  
  
Achilles buried his face in his hands. "He knew I would never hurt him. He knew it. I would never lay a hand on him in an unkind way. Gods, I am half afraid to touch him, for fear I would damage him."  
  
"His trust was violated in the worst way imaginable, Achilles. It is normal for him to be frightened of touch and people for some time. I am confident that he will recover, however. What you have is something strong and rare. Nothing can tear that from you," Odysseus murmured, hoping that his words had some effect on Achilles.  
  
Achilles did not answer. He just walked toward Paris, and lay down next to him. He wrapped his long arms around Paris' body, and let a few tears fall once more.  
  
To Achilles' utter relief and joy, Paris subconsciously pressed himself against Achilles' warmth.  
  
Paris did not cry out once more that night from nightmares, as they never occurred.

* * *

Hope you liked. Don't kill me. I did forget the mention that Achilles was a self abuser, and had cut himself constantly before Paris arrived. Paris helped him stop the urge to hurt himself. I may write a one chapter companion piece to explain that.  
  
Please, please review. I won't update probably for a long time, as I'm leaving the 10th to go on vacation. 


	8. 8

I hope I'm not ruining this story by posting this chapter the way it is. I hope you like it. Thankl you to reviewers, please keep reviewing.

* * *

Paris opened one bleary eye the next morning, his memory fogged. The first thing he felt was pain, sharp, stabbing pain, and he stifled an agonized whimper.  
  
His cheeks flushed in shame at letting it happen, and then blaming Achilles for it. Achilles had obviously been locked up or something. If he could've saved him, he would have.  
  
The Trojan winced as he shifted his body so it was facing Achilles. He reached out a slender hand and stroked the soft skin of Achilles' face. To his dismay, he found that the cheeks were tear streaked and the skin around his eyes red.  
  
He must have caused Achilles so much pain....  
  
When he had woken up, he had looked up and first saw the first man who had.....raped him. The man's sneering, lustful face had disappeared the handsome, concerned face of Achilles had appeared. Paris had acted rashly and he would do anything to take it back. Yes, it felt like he had been betrayed, but now he knew better.  
  
"A-Achilles," he whispered softly, and continued stroking the man's face, "Please c-come back to me." He felt so isolated and alone, he felt tears well up in his eyes.  
  
Achilles slowly opened his sea blue eyes, and looked confused at the position they were in. "Paris? Are...are you alright?" he asked, his voice groggy.  
  
Paris smiled sadly. "P-please forgive me, Achilles. I-I acted wrongly. I was still filled with the recent horror of the....event....and I felt betrayed."  
  
Achilles lay silently, listening to the voice his loved so much. Could it be that Paris would forgive him? The Trojan's eyes looked hurt and were filled with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe those tears away.  
  
"I k-know that if you could have helped me...you would have. I was f- foolish and disoriented. Please forgive me. I...I love you even more after this whole ordeal," Paris murmured, and distanced himself slightly. . He knew that he could trust the man fully and that he would never lay a hand on him in an unkind way, but he was still nervous.  
  
"I...I was so afraid you would never trust me again, but I understand why you acted the way you did. I was afraid you would never be the same," Achilles muttered, and then opened his arms out as an invitation. Paris, who was feeling miserable, nervously pressed himself into Achilles' strong embrace. He flinched at first, but then relaxed slightly. He felt cold and alone, and being held was a welcome but at the same time uncomfortable affair.  
  
"I won't ever be the same again, Achilles. What those men did to me was a life changing event. It does not, however, make me love you less. It...It will just be sometime before you can touch me."  
  
Achilles nodded, and then soothingly stroked Paris' curls. Paris' brown eyes were still filled with tears, either from humiliation or pain, Achilles didn't know. He tightened his hold on his lover, and was happy when Paris didn't jerk away.  
  
"It was not your fault, Paris. Never think that it was your fault," Achilles said softly, but Paris' sobs only got louder.  
  
"It-it was my-my fault. I c-can feel them, Achilles...I can feel their hands...groping me..."  
  
Achilles tucked Paris' head under his chin, and held the trembling body close. He felt Paris' sobs quiet, and the Trojan tried to stand. With a small cry of pain, Paris fell ungracefully in a heap.  
  
"Don't move, Paris. You are still healing. You will probably experience more pain if you move," Achilles said, and placed a gentle kiss on Paris' head.  
  
"What...what will we do, Achilles? Agamemnon has only been stalled temporarily. They will find us," Paris, said, and rubbed his face in an exasperated gesture. His head ached from lack of better sleep and the stabbing pain below his waist.  
  
"I have thought about it. I would need your consent, but I believe that it is best if we leave Troy, and sail for Greece. I do not believe in this cause and you are not safe, and I will do anything to change that. You would most likely never see your family again, Paris. We may have to live in a secluded area for sometime.  
  
"I also think it would be best to leave tomorrow. You are out of danger now, and Agamemnon is growing restless. He will come for us within the next few days. I just need to know if you would be willing to sail." Achilles spoke quietly, and took Paris' hands, gently rubbing the skin.  
  
Paris' face was sad and his eyes were troubled. Troy had been his only home, and while Greece was beautiful, he was leaving his family behind. Yes, he knew that he wouldn't see them even when he was in Troy, but now it settled in.  
  
He didn't want to put Achilles in danger. The man had risked his life by keeping him in his tent, and it was his fault if Achilles had to deal with any pain by Agamemnon.  
  
"I will sail," Paris murmured, and then lay his head on Achilles' chest. He was surprised that he could deal with someone being this close to him after such a traumatic event, but he attributed it to the fact that he loved Achilles, and trusted him deeply.

* * *

The next day, Achilles went to Odysseus' tent to tell him of Paris' recovery.  
  
The man smiled with joy when he heard that Paris still trusted Achilles, and was happy that he had had a hand in helping the Trojan recover.  
  
Achilles also told him of their plans to sail.  
  
"Will you come with us, Odysseus?" Achilles asked, his voice hopeful. He couldn't bear to leave his good friend behind, especially after he had helped them so much.  
  
Odysseus' kind eyes smiled. "You know I would do anything for you and Paris, Achilles. I'm tired of all of the battles and fighting, and it's time I went home."  
  
Achilles sighed in relief. "Good. My men are coming with me as well. We will sail tonight."  
  
Odysseus' smile faded. "How is Paris taking this?"  
  
Now Achilles frowned. "I can tell he is uncomfortable about leaving his family and past behind. He does know that this is the only way we will be safe, though. We really don't have a choice." Achilles deeply regretted putting Paris in this position, but it was the only way they could be together.  
  
And Achilles was sure that he could not live without his beautiful lover.

* * *

Paris looked up at the night sky, happy to find the stars twinkling brightly.  
  
"It is good weather to sail," he said, and then looked to the water. Gentle waves caressed the shores, and the rest of the sea was calm as a lake. Salt air played with his curls tenderly, and he heard the cry of a lone sea bird nearby. The setting was very tranquil and calmed his nerves.  
  
Achilles wrapped his arms around Paris' thin form and nodded. Paris flinched very slightly at the contact, but then melted into Achilles' form. "Yes, it is perfect weather to be on a boat. We will leave within minutes." Achilles looked down into Paris' eyes, and was saddened to see pain present.  
  
Paris eyes had been the main way to tell what his emotions were these days. They always had that same haunted, darkened look, full of past suffering. The chocolate brown orbs were still lovely, but they no longer sparkled as much. Dark circles were always under his eyes also. It made Achilles cringe that Paris had been hurt so badly and he desperately wished that he could have helped his beloved somehow. He would have given anything to be able to take back the night when they had made love, so Agamemnon would not have seen them. He would have sacrificed his life so that Paris' soul could fully heal. Yet, that would most likely never happen.  
  
Paris broke their gaze and looked over the hills toward the city of Troy. He could see that the city was lit up by candles and lamps in houses. He had missed his home when he had first came to the camp, but knowing he would not even be able to set eyes upon it grieved him.  
  
Achilles sensed Paris' turmoil and called to his men to ready the ship. Paris took one more look towards his former home, and then walked with Achilles to the shore.  
  
Odysseus was already on the ship, and waved when he saw Achilles and Paris.  
  
The two stepped onto the ship carefully, Achilles minding Paris' injury still. The Trojan still had stabbing pain sometimes, but he was recovering nicely. It was the emotional damage that Achilles most wished he could soothe and take away.  
  
Paris turned to view his homeland one last time, and could not stop a single tear from sliding down his cheek. Achilles tenderly wiped it away.  
  
"This is the best thing, my love. We will be able to be together in peace; we will not have to live like fugitives," Achilles said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. The gentle rocking of the ship felt peaceful, and he surrendered to the comforting atmosphere.  
  
Paris nodded. "I know, but I am leaving my home. This is hard for me; so much has changed in this past year. I doubt my family thinks I'm alive."  
  
Achilles nodded. "But you are alive, Paris. This way, we will be able to lead happy lives together."  
  
Paris nodded, and then turned toward the water. Achilles led him to a small personal cot that was on the deck for resting. Achilles had not slept near him in the past few nights, knowing Paris wanted to be a short distance away from him for a time. It didn't hurt Achilles at all; he understood how horribly Paris' soul had been violated.  
  
Yet Achilles had hope that one day he would be able to touch his love tenderly once again, and that Paris would heal.  
  
Achilles walked toward the wall of the small ship, peering over the edge. He didn't stray too far from Paris, but then he looked toward Troy one last time as well.  
  
The war had changed his life dramatically, and had given him love as well. He silently said a prayer of thanks to the Gods, thanking them that Paris had been returned to him, and that they had given him this beauitful love.

* * *

Please review. Will have 1-2 more chapters.


	9. 9

Hello all. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews!

Please enjoy this chapter. I'm told it's sad, so grab the tissues.

I will continue Reborn Innocence soon; my Troy muse was just eating away at me.

* * *

Paris propped himself up with his elbows on the side of the boat, gazing out to sea, a mass of deep blue, except for the light of the moon. The calming sound of waves caressing the side of the ship set his troubled mind at ease for sometime, before returning to his thoughts.

He had left his home behind. Troy, the place where he had been raised and happy, was nothing more than a memory to him now. Several times he had turned around to see if he could see the shoreline, but he had only seen darkness.

The former prince thought of his life before Helen and Sparta and the war. He had been foolish; thinking one night stands actually meant something when they had only been a few hours of pleasure. He remembered seeing Helen at Sparta; her golden hair had been elaborately done up, and her sea blue eyes had sparkled with an unknown pain. From the moment her set eyes on her he wished to ease that pain, but now feared he had caused her more by leaving her alone in Troy. He had been stupid; there wasn't another way to put it. His love had taken over him and he had brought Helen with him to Troy. He wanted to ease her inner suffering about being with Menelaus and wanted to love and cherish her. He had caused this war, and he would never feel release from the guilt. He achingly recalled Hector's disappointed expression when he had told him about Helen.

Hector....

Paris' eyes filled with tears at thinking of his beloved brother. He missed him dearly; with him, he had always had a loving pair of strong arms to snuggle into, a shoulder to cry on.

He felt a heavy feeling in his stomach-loss. He would never see his father again, Briseis, or anyone who he had ever been friends with or knew. They would most likely be killed, or taken prisoner to the Greeks. Troy would be burned.

The feeling in his stomach intensified, and Paris frowned. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and then vomited over the edge of the boat. Feeling dazed for sometime, Paris lay down on the deck of the boat until he began to feel better.

The Trojan attributed the sick feeling to sea sickness—why else would he be ill? An unexpected, stabbing pain resounded in his lower body, and he almost cried out. What was going on? Was he healing properly?

Unwanted memories invaded Paris' thoughts, and he weakly pushed them away.

After long moments of staring up into the black night sky, Paris shakily stood up. Despite feeling sick, he resumed his gazing—until a soft "Paris?" made him turn around quickly.

Achilles stood behind him on the deck, looking concerned. His long golden hair was in disarray and was clad only in a sleeping robe. Paris smiled softly and his features relaxed.

"Aye, it is me, Achilles," he said softly, and beckoned for his love to join him. Achilles returned the gentle smile and walked up behind Paris, before carefully folding his arms around him. Paris tensed only for a minute, and then reclined into his lover's strong form.

The two watched the silvery moon for sometime in silence, before Achilles spoke. "Why did you come out here alone, Paris? I woke and nearly panicked when you were not near me."

Paris sighed quietly. "I could not sleep, and my mind needed clearing. The sea has always had a calming effect on me," the young man said. He took a deep breath and inhaled Achilles' spicy scent. He loved moments like these; he felt safe and cherished in Achilles' embrace.

Achilles tucked Paris' head under his own. He knew that Paris was upset about leaving Troy, but they both would have paid dearly if they had stayed.

"I love you," Achilles mumbled into Paris' soft brown curls, and then placed a kiss on his smooth forehead.

"I love you as well," Paris whispered, and closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the newest bout of nausea he was feeling. He decided against telling Achilles of his sudden sickness, knowing the man would overreact.

"Come," Achilles began, and took Paris' slender hand. "We should sleep. You are still recovering."

Paris nodded, ignoring the ominous tug at the back of his mind.

The two went to lie down, and Achilles gave Paris a quick parting kiss on his hand. His own 'bed' was a few feet away from Paris' few blankets that were being used for a mattress, as Paris had timidly requested not to sleep next to him so closely. Achilles had looked hurt at first, but then quickly regained his composure and reassured Paris that he understood.

Paris turned on his side, wrapped up in a wool coverlet. He felt as thought his very being was on fire; his lower body ached badly and he felt sweat covering his forehead. Yet he was freezing.

After tossing and turning for hours, Paris fell into a restless sleep, full of nightmares and pain.

* * *

"Paris? Paris! Please wake up, my love," came Achilles' hazy voice. Paris opened his eyes and then immediately shut them, seeing double of his lover's face. A burning sensation took over his head and he moaned softly.

"He is ill, Achilles. He must have an infection from the rape," came Odysseus' worried voice. Paris vaguely felt someone touch his brow gently, but then they jerked their hand away.

"He has an infectious fever. He must not have healed enough before we came on the ship. Paris needs medicine quickly, Achilles, or this could get deadly."

Paris was struck with a terrible wave of pain through his lower body and nausea once more, and he vomited onto the floor. He could feel the sweat dripping off of his weakened form, and he stifled back an agonized moan.

He felt someone gently wipe his mouth off with a soft cloth, and then put a cool, water soaked cloth on his forehead. Achilles' strong hand stroked his damp hair soothingly, and Paris began to feel slightly better. Unfortunately, the brief feeling of relief left him quickly, and he again emptied the contents of his stomach, which was barely anything. He felt Achilles' hands tenderly holding his brown curls back from his face as his body shivered and heaved wildly, trying to rid itself of something that wasn't there. Utterly exhausted, Paris uncomprehendingly collapsed back onto Achilles' warm body, and darkness filled his mind almost immediately.

* * *

Achilles stared at his lover's still form for some moments; worry and fear was eating away at his very soul. Paris' body was hot and damp, and his breathing was ragged. Achilles felt very much like he did the night he found Paris motionless and bleeding at the Greek camp; helpless.

A terrible feeling of guilt overwhelmed him; had they left too soon? If he hadn't moved Paris, would the Trojan be well?

He forced himself to calm down. If this was an infection, it would have started before they had sailed. They hadn't had many medical supplies left from the battles, so the medicines Paris took weren't very strong.

Odysseus watched with sad eyes. The infection was ravaging Paris' already weak body and things would continue to get worse before they got better.

Achilles gently laid Paris down onto the floor of the ship, and then turned to Odysseus.

"I want the entire ship searched for any healing herbs or elixirs. There is a chance they left some behind," Achilles ordered, and then made to undress Paris and bath him in cool water. He desperately wanted to ease his lover's pain.

"Achilles, I highly doubt that—" Odysseus started, but was then rudely cut off by the other warrior.

"Damn it, Odysseus! The love of my life is in great danger! I want this ship searched now!"

"—that any herbs are left," Odysseus continued silkily, his voice slightly agitated, "but I do believe there are 3 or 4 elixirs left. Please, let me fetch them for you." With that, Odysseus turned, shaking his head sadly at Achilles' weak apology.

"I understand, my friend, but you must calm yourself. Worrying excessively won't help Paris at all. Understand, Achilles; I care for Paris as well, and I will do all I can to help him." The truth was, Odysseus was frightened for Paris as well; he just didn't show it as readily. He thanked the Gods that there were some healing elixirs left, and quickly went to search for them.

Achilles turned back to Paris, and finished removing his nightshirt. The young man's body was hot to the touch and sweat gathered on the long graceful limbs. Achilles reached for the basin of cool water he had filled up earlier that morning, and then grabbed a nearby sponge. Gently Achilles bathed Paris, hoping to ease his lover's fever.

At first he hesitated, but then Achilles carefully lifted the long, shapely legs until they were over his shoulders. He tenderly inspected Paris' opening, and was startled to see the skin was bright red. Paris did indeed have an infection, as he had not healed properly. Another, now familiar twinge of fear twisted Achilles' stomach.

Paris moaned softly, and then the chocolate brown eyes opened. He let out a strangled cry, and then ripped his legs away from Achilles, before choking back a sob. His eyes were wide and cornered, like an animal before being killed by a hunter. The warrior could have slapped himself at his stupidity.

"Paris...please forgive me...I was only checking to see if you had healed," Achilles whispered, feeling extremely guilty for the fright he had caused.

Paris seemed incoherent. He squinted his eyes, trying to see Achilles, but then let out a ragged breath. He lay back down, and closed his eyes once more.

Thankfully, Odysseus entered at that moment. He was carrying a bottle made of blue glass, and Achilles could see a thick liquid inside of it. He sighed in relief.

Odysseus sat down beside Achilles and regarded Paris with worried eyes. "How is he?"

Achilles sighed sadly. "I checked his entrance, and it's extremely inflamed. He has a bad infection, and the best way to treat it would be for me to apply the elixir directly to the wound. Odysseus, he isn't coherent. He has no idea what is going on whenever he wakes up. If I apply the ointment and he wakes up, he....he may think I'm raping him."

An odd silence descended in the air. Both warriors knew that Paris was in emotional turmoil from the rape, and he would never heal completely.

Achilles broke the silence by gently taking the bottle from Odysseus. "Yet if I don't do something, things will get worse...would you leave us? If he does think I'm hurting him, he will be upset if you are near," Achilles whispered.

Odysseus nodded and left.

Achilles looked toward his feverish lover and braced himself for the task ahead of him. He stood and walked over to his lover, whispering soothingly. Whether Paris heard him or not he didn't know.

The blonde sat down between Paris' legs, and very slowly parted them. Paris let out a tiny whimper of confusion, and tried weakly to pull his legs away, but failed. Achilles gritted his teeth and gently lifted the long limbs to his shoulders.

Paris still had his eyes closed, and Achilles uncorked the blue bottle, immediately smelling aromatic herbs. He dipped a finger in and brought it out slowly, making sure he had enough of the substance on as a lubricant.

With shaking hands, Achilles lifted Paris' curved hips and tried to get a better look at what he was dealing with. Unknown to him, he pressed on a sore bruise from the fateful night around the hips and Paris let out a small moan. Still, the brown eyes did not open.

"I'm sorry, Paris," Achilles whispered so softly it was barely audible. His stomach felt terrible and fear ate at his insides. He was terrified he would hurt Paris, but he knew he couldn't dwell on it. Furrowing his brows, he slowly pushed his finger into Paris' abused opening.

Achilles heart broke at the soft wail Paris let out, and when the brown eyes open they were fogged and pained. "No, please, not again...." Paris pleaded to Achilles, narrowing his eyes. He was trying to see Achilles but failed, as his vision was fogged. All he felt was an agonizing pain in his lower body, and he knew it was happening again.

Achilles choked back a sob. "Forgive me, Paris. I have to help you, or you will die," the man said, hurt and sorrow in his voice. He poured more healing elixir onto his fingers and pushed a second one into the opening. Paris moaned loudly and tried to wrench his body away again, but couldn't succeed.

"Please...leave me be, don't hurt me..." Paris said, and his voice was so pained and pleading that Achilles began to shake. Tears left Paris' brown eyes and fell down his flushed cheeks, and the constant, murmured pleading didn't stop. The man's breathing was hard and panicked.

Achilles felt his own hot tears trickle down his face, and he didn't try to stop them. He had never felt this helpless. To his utter shock and self loathing, he felt the sparks of arousal wash through his body, and to his horror and guilt he grew hard. Paris' helplessness and moans were too much; it looked like Paris was surrendering to him when they made love. The way his long legs were spread before him appearing wanton awoke almost feral feelings of desire inside the warrior. Terrible shame overtook his mind and he wept softly. He couldn't control how his body reacted and it made him feel even more useless. He desperately wanted to help his lover, and he knew he had to finish what he started. He gritted his teeth and went on, forgetting his aching arousal. He would not subject Paris to this pain again.

"I-I will never h-hurt you, Paris. I only w-want to help you," he whispered once more, and his voice was unsteady. He knelt and successfully hid that he was aroused, not wanting to make Paris panic even more. He carefully pushed in a third finger, and Paris yelled so heart wrenchingly that Achilles sobbed openly. He lifted Paris' hips and wet his fingers with more of the elixir, making sure the inside of his lover's passage was coated thickly.

Paris sobbed brokenly, and flinched at every move Achilles made. "Please...no more...." He no longer fought, utterly exhausted even from his weak attempts to get away.

Achilles stroked Paris' thigh, hoping to soothe the young man. "Soon, my love. I promise." Tears still fell down his face and he tried to calm himself, but the sight of Paris' tear streaked face and the sound of his begging tore at his very soul. Paris sounded defeated and Achilles hated himself for causing his lover this much anguish. Thankfully, Achilles' arousal had faded, and he could finish his work without being distracted.

Finally, Achilles dripped the rest of the fragrant substance down Paris' passage, making sure it went into his body. He gently laid down Paris' long legs, trying not to start sobbing at Paris' terrified whimpers. Achilles crawled up to Paris face, feeling rejected when Paris scooted away from him.

"Forgive me, Paris. I had to do it. I could not just sit by and see you in such agony," Achilles said earnestly, trying to soothe his lover once more. Paris cocked his head, his brow furrowed. He looked like he didn't know what Achilles was saying. His face was still tear streaked and anxious.

Achilles laid a hand on Paris' shoulder, and was pleased when the man didn't jerk away. Paris didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular. Achilles put slight pressure onto the elegant, sloping shoulders until Paris was flat on the floor. The brown eyes closed almost immediately.

Achilles let out a relieved sigh and sat crossed legged near his lover. After a few moments of silence he felt his eyes fill up with unwanted tears. He buried his face in his strong hands and wept silently, his shoulders heaving. His attempts to be silent failed, and soon the small room was filled with the sounds of his soft sobs.

Terrible feelings overwhelmed him; guilt, worry, misery, shame.

* * *

That was how Odysseus found him.

"Oh, my friend," the elder man said sadly. He went over to Achilles and knelt behind him, and carefully wrapped his arms around the trembling man. Achilles did not pull away but instead cried harder, gasping between sobs, "I didn't w-want to hurt him, Odysseus. H-he though I was r-raping him...."

Odysseus tightened his hold. "I know you didn't, Achilles. He wasn't alert; he didn't know what was happening. He loves you." Odysseus had been speechless for some moments, holding a fierce warrior who was hurting and sobbing in agony. But the other warrior didn't know the true guilt that was killing Achilles inside.

Odysseus angrily questioned the Gods why they would do this. Why would they put two human beings in such anguish? Not receiving an answer, Odysseus held Achilles until the man was so tired that he fell asleep in Odysseus' arms.

* * *

Please review.


	10. 10

Wow...it's been so long. Please forgive me for this terrible wait between updates... the holidays overwhelmed me, but I guess that isn't a very good excuse. I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review.

* * *

Paris let out a soft groan as he stretched his long legs, surprised when he felt no sharp pain in his lower body. He felt warm and safe, and he pressed his body into the thick coverings he was lying on. He could smell the aromatic scent of herbs and fresh bread, and he sighed in content. Opening his chocolate brown eyes, Paris squinted to survey his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was Achilles' handsome face, looking utterly relieved.

"Thank the Gods you're awake, Paris," he whispered, and scooted the stool he was sitting on closer to Paris. His eyes were red and had dark circles under them.

The Trojan smiled when he saw Achilles and reached for his hand. Achilles obliged him and gently stroked the warm fingers.

"What...what happened? When did we get here? Where are we, exactly?" Paris asked, and he found his voice was hoarse.

"We are in Greece, Paris, in my mother's house. We have been here for three days," Achilles explained gently, and since Paris had reached for his hand, he tenderly pressed his lips to Paris' forehead.

Paris did not jerk away, but instead closed his eyes and sighed softly. He brought his hands up to Achilles' hair and threaded them through the soft locks before caressing Achilles' neck and shoulders. "I have missed you, my love. Our time on the ship is but a blur to me. The only thing I remember is being out on the deck...then feeling ill...." Paris broke off and Achilles brought a finger to his lips to silence him.

"You had contracted an infectious fever. You had gotten an infection from the...rape, and for a few days, it was uncertain if you would...if you would live," Achilles whispered, and Paris saw tears pooling in the sky blue orbs.

"The rest of the trip was...Hell, Paris. It was horrible. I had to give y-you medicine...I had to apply an ointment to your backside, and you were delirious. You thought t-that I...you thought that I-I was forcing you." The tears slowly emptied from Achilles' eyes, and Paris brushed them away.

"I didn't know what you were doing," Paris began, his voice quiet and soothing. "I was unaware of what was happening. I know that you would never hurt me." Achilles began to shake with suppressed sobs.

"That isn't t-the worst of it," Achilles said shakily. "W-when I h-had to spread y-your legs...you looked so w-wanton, as if we were going to make love. I...I grew aroused at that, Paris. You were s-so afraid and in pain but I grew aroused. I hate myself for it. I hate it. I was so weak..."

Paris gently wrapped his arms around Achilles as his sobs strengthened. He rubbed circles on the elegantly curved back and whispered to the warrior, "You are human, Achilles. We all have desires that we cannot control. You were trying to help me, and that is all that matters. I will think no less of you because of what your body did. I love you, Achilles, and nothing will ever change that."

Achilles lifted his head and gazed at the man he loved with trusting eyes. "Do you promise me?" he asked with the voice of a child's, quiet and pleading.

"Come here," Paris said, and lifted the blankets up as an invitation to the man. Achilles crawled under them and buried his face into Paris' chest, trying to stifle his cries.

"Let go and rest easy, Achilles. I am with you now," Paris whispered into Achilles' ear. He felt no timidness with having the man this close as he trusted him deeply. Achilles was hurting and needed his comfort.

* * *

Moments later, when Achilles had finally succumbed to exhaustion, a woman entered the room. Paris looked up warily, but then his face softened at the gentleness in this woman's bright blue eyes. Her long, thick dark hair was pulled up on to of her head, and she wore a simple but elegant violet gown accented with a belt of shells. She looked older but not terribly so, as though her youthful light within outshone her slightly tired face. There was an ethereal beauty about her that not even Helen possessed.

Paris looked to the blue eyes again, and was startled to see them look so familiar. The woman smiled, and Paris saw the smile he had grown used to over the year.

Thetis walked toward the small bed the two men were lying in and sat on the stool next to it. She made eye contact with the man her son loved and smiled. "Greetings to you, Paris." Her voice was warm and lilting.

Paris bowed his head in respect to Achilles' mother. "My lady."

Thetis put a gentle, warm hand under his chin. "There is no need to bow to me, Paris. You have captured my son's heart, and for that I will treasure you as a son."

Paris smiled and lifted his head to gaze at the lovely creature. "Thank you," he whispered, trying to be quiet as to not to wake Achilles. Thetis glanced at her son and grinned as well.

"You have a calming effect on him, Paris. Not even I could help him sleep that soundly when he was a boy," Thetis said, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Achilles' face. Paris closed observed Thetis' features. He saw all of the qualities of a mother present in her face and the tender feeling that a parent had for her child.

Paris pressed a gentle kiss on Achilles' forehead when the man stirred. "He spoke about you, when we were in the camp," Paris said abruptly. "He said how he missed you, and how you had told him that if he went to Troy...that he would never come back." Paris' voice dropped to a whisper as he finished his sentence.

Thetis nodded. "I was nearly certain that he would not return to me. It is hard for a mother to tell her son that he will die, but I wanted to prepare him. But you, Paris, you stopped the death of my child. And for that I will always be grateful."

With that, Thetis gave Paris one last smile and walked out of the room, leaving Paris to his now content thoughts.

* * *

Hours later Achilles awoke. Paris had long since fallen asleep and Achilles smiled at the peace on the former prince's face. The sun had set and the moon peeked through the few clouds in the sky. Achilles left the bed and gazed out of the window, appreciating the landscape which he had brushed off before the war. Troy had been so dry...so desolate.

Achilles did not notice that Paris' eyes had opened and now studied him. Paris was filled with a strong feeling of content and closed his eyes in unexplainable happiness.

The Trojan carefully stepped out of the bed and walked over to the large window in the room to join his lover. The moonlight shone down on the gentle waves of the sea, and Paris was shocked by the rare, fresh beauty of Greece. He placed his hands on Achilles' broad shoulders and massaged the warm skin. Achilles glanced back and smiled as he picked up a slender hand and pressed it to his lips. He then pulled Paris gently in front of him so he could recline onto his body.

"It's beautiful," Paris uttered as his eyes took in the nearly mythical landscape.

"Not nearly as beautiful as you, my love," Achilles replied, and wrapped his arms tighter around Paris.

"I want to go down to the ocean," Paris whispered. "It's been so long..." The calming sea attracted him and he wanted to feel the healing affects of the waters.

"I will take you there," Achilles promised. "Are you strong enough?" He still worried for his love's physical condition and didn't want the Trojan to push himself.

"Aye, I am well..."

"Then let us go, my love."

Achilles took Paris' hand and gently led him out of the room and out of the small house until they were out in the majestic night.

* * *

The warm water caressed Paris' calves and he sighed in bliss as Achilles gently washed his naked body and kissed him sweetly on his shoulders. Paris turned around and faced his lover before delicately claimed his lips. Achilles dropped the sponge into the gentle sea and wrapped his strong arms around the Trojan while returning the kiss.

"I was dying," Achilles murmured into Paris' ear. "I wanted to leave this world...I had no peace...and you showed me how utterly...beautiful, life could be." The blonde caressed Paris' elegant back and held him to his body protectively. "I was so afraid on the ship...afraid I would lose you...and that I would be alone again...I wouldn't have made it..."

"No more words," Paris muttered, and kissed Achilles passionately before saying, "I am here and I will never leave you. I love you"

"I love you too."

The two fell into the soothing, comforting waters and thanked the Gods for their love.


End file.
